


The Future is Calling (were you listening?)

by Korpuskat



Series: Amor Fati [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Bisexual Kylo Ren, Kylo Ren Backstory, Kylo Ren makes friends!, Kylo Ren tries to buy sex toys!, Masturbation, NOT Bloodline compliant, Other, im super done with this tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 08:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8048590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Korpuskat/pseuds/Korpuskat
Summary: Ben Organa-Solo dreams of many things, things that Kylo Ren will never see.





	The Future is Calling (were you listening?)

**Author's Note:**

> In truth, this piece exists so that when Kylo's complete backstory is (hopefully) revealed with VIII and IX, Amor Fati will still make a modicum of sense in how I characterized him.

The dreams start when he was too young. Vague, swirling impressions that vanish long before he woke, impossible fantasies that sparked imagination. Harmless things, for the most part- seeing himself walk through foreign, alien streets or speak with people he’d never known before.

And sometimes he’d wake scared, held stiff by his terror, heart slamming against his small ribcage- afraid to speak and hear that grating, metallic, inhuman voice leave his mouth. He’d touch his face, hope to feel skin and hair and his overlarge nose than the strange metal _thing_ that covered him.

Or worse, he’d hear another voice beside his own. Something rasping and cold, sinister in its whispers, telling him all those secrets about his family. 

_“He never wanted to be a father,”_ It whispers, _“He hates being here.”_

Ben, suddenly terrified the voice could somehow right (surely not, Dad wasn’t around often, but he _loved_ him--) can never quite bring himself to tell his parents. If the voice was right, wouldn’t it just make things worse? If the voice was right his parents would only fight more.

And even if- if the voice was wrong, just some imaginary trick of his mind- they were always busy. Never a good time to talk to them about something as silly, as _childish_ as bad dreams. Leia campaigning for peace, championing the formation of a new Republic- and Han was always a wanderer, never wanted to be in one place too long, had formed his own (legal) shipping company. Even when they were together- it wasn’t pretty. Not like parents were supposed to be.

Loud, fighting, always upset with each other. 

He thinks, perhaps, Uncle Luke would understand. He knew the Force. Leia had never been in touch with her powers- and Ben envied her that. He’d give up being able to move things with his mind if it would make the voice go away, keep the visions of fire and screaming out of his dreams.

He carefully approaches Luke while he was visiting one evening, back from a trip to find old Jedi relics- looking to rebuild their heritage, to revive the Jedi and bring their stabilizing force to the galaxy again, as he’d told Leia. Ben waits until later- he had just wanted to ask about weird dreams, not interrupt their discussion of the rebuilding of structured society. More important things he couldn’t understand. 

Ben’s voice is small as he finally spoke the truth about his long lurking problem. And Luke cocks his head, looks at him strangely. His eyebrows pinch together in concern, touches Ben’s shoulder reassuringly, asks, “Have you told your mother about that?”

Ben bites his lip, looks to his toes. Luke nods and stands- goes to speak with Leia. 

_“They’re all afraid of you.”_ Ben shivers, gasps, tries to ignore the chill down his spine, _“They want to keep you weak.”_

 

 

Leia and Luke had long known that the young Skywalker would be powerful- more aware of the Force then either of them at his age. Luke had been an adult when he found out- and had two powerful Jedi to guide him to his role in the universe; he knew who he was as a person when he found out. 

Leia had been even older- and chose not to pursue her abilities. 

Ben didn’t have that choice- his awareness of the Force had manifested too early, too powerfully to ignore. With that in mind they tried- tried to give Ben the attention and care he needed. The first few years were rough- Ben’s connection with the Force too saturated in the wake of the toppling of a galactic empire and innumerable planets in uprising, the unsettled energy of a galaxy in open turmoil. Too much energy and newness in society that seemed to ripple straight through him.

Leia had known her son was- being watched, was the best phrase she could think of. A strange presence that seemed to lurk around Ben’s mind. To anyone else he was simply lost in thought- perhaps abnormal for a child, but nothing to be concerned about it. But Leia, even in her untrained fumbling senses, she could feel it. The unnerving feeling that fell from his mind like an aura when he stared into the distance, unseeing and unspeaking. 

It was hard to tell- she’d never been trained, but she knew well enough that something was wrong. 

Luke did his best to teach Ben how to guard himself, how to put up his first attempts at shielding. They were weak- Luke knew, of course, but it would be a process. Slowly he would be able to help Ben- he had to. 

And Han- Han never understood. 

 

 

When Ben is fourteen he attends a friend’s party, another senator’s son that he’d known for years. “He’s finally adjusting,” Leia whispers to 3PO when she thinks Ben can’t hear her. A melancholic touch to her voice, worrisome. He can feel it now- can brush against her mind and _feel_ what she feels, the reserved concern. 

It’s a simple, nearly innocent partially post-pubescent get-together. Adult chaperones talking idly and keeping an eye over the emerging teens. It’s too loud and social for Ben’s preferences, and keeps to the walls, speaks only with people he knows already. As the party winds down, the first half dozen partygoers leaving for the evening, Ben is challenged to join in _Truth or Dare._ There’s some implication throw onto the end, some “or are you too scared?”

Ben’s impulsive mouth answers before he can consider it. He should’ve said no- it’s such a stupid game, always about stupid stuff. Who _likes_ who and whatnot, stuff Ben doesn’t care about. Plus, he’s never any good and making up dares or questions to ask. 

When it’s his turn the option is easy for Ben. It’s astronomically unlikely they’d think to ask _’what did you dream of last night?’_ and even more astronomically unlike he’d tell the truth in response: _”I murdered an old man, scarred and tired and looking so disappointed in me.”_

But- he can’t risk that. Can’t risk them asking about his dreams or the voice or anything else that’s so fucked up in his head that even he doesn’t understand it. “Dare,” He says, overly forceful- and he can read it (too easily)- the boy who asked him thinks he’s scared. He’s right. 

“I dare you to…” Ben’s breath catches for a moment, unsure what he’ll demand- “kiss the cutest person here!” Ben stares and the challenger laughs behind one hand. Other people in the circle blush, watch expectantly as Ben looks through the lingering crowd.

And Ben thinks, _that’s easy._ There’s a dark-haired man sitting directly to his right, tanned with joking eyes, a little older than him. He wears a leather pilot’s jacket and Ben grabs him by the lapels.

The kiss is short and simple, just enough to feel how chapped the other boy’s lips are, just enough to satisfy the dare. And Ben pulls back in on himself, crosses his arms, dares anyone to challenge his response. Poe laughs about it, rolls his eyes, cracks some joke about everyone wanting a piece of him. 

Ben wonders if telling Han the fact he enjoyed kissing Poe would go over more or less smoothly than the last dream he had. 

 

 

Three weeks later he dreams of himself- older, bigger. Darker. Fearless, ruthless. He feels powerful, for once- strong. Frightfully independant but not alone. Not weighted down by anyone’s expectations of him. It’s better than flying. It’s amazing- he feels so in _control_ for once, that he’s the deciding force in the world. 

A straight red blade is in his hand- a lightsaber like his Uncle’s. And he’s- Ben chokes, can’t breath in his bed, suffocating under the weight of this impossible sight. He’s seen it before and still-

In the dream he swings his blade, unable to stop, another clean slice straight through some unformed person, the blade leaving a momentary red arc in its path through the shaking, fearful person. Vague and malleable and yet so real, a person with thoughts and a life and Ben had _killed him._ It wasn’t like the old man- no, that felt different.

That was far away, someone he hated. Someone who had _wronged_ him. But these- these people didn’t mean anything to him, we less than ants beneath his boots, only as important as how quickly he would slaughter them. And he would kill them, almost mockingly delicate swings of his sword, powerful pulls with his mind; it’s like a dance. Beautiful and well-practiced, he hardly even has to think about the movement as he brings the blade down again. Ben wants to scream, wants to _stop._

Because it is so _real-_ he could feel the warmth of the burning wreckage around him, the slight sting along his knee where some poor bastard had actually managed to graze him (he made that one suffer, he can nearly remember her screaming). The scent of the burning jet fuel, unfiltered through his mask. 

Ben can’t breath, can feel the tears burning at his eyes. He wants to get away, to escape from whatever horrific false fate this was. This _couldn’t_ be real- this can’t be right. 

And someone was on the field with him- someone else in black robes and a glowing saber. Not vague and changing like the strange half-people are, but solid. Real. Ben wants to yell at them to get away, stay away from him-- and Ben feels it. In this dream, this nightmare version of himself- he _loves_ them. 

And Ben wakes, between each gasping breath is a sob. He can feel the voice smiling, whispering how powerful he could be. He can’t do this alone any more.

 

 

He tries not to cry when Han and Leia walk away- to run back to them and apologize and try to fix whatever it was he did wrong. Beg them to take him back home. He’ll try harder, just give him a chance-

And in the same breath he’s burning with anger. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He had confessed about his nightmares to his parents- and they ship him away. Leave him for someone else to deal with. How dare they claim to- to _love_ him when they do this? 

Ben knew why, of course. He wasn’t normal- had weird powers that neither of them could really understand. He had felt it when they told him he had to go with Luke- felt their _fear._ He had ventured the chance that they would help him, and they were so afraid they abandoned him.

He realizes then, of course, that it wasn’t such an unfamiliar feeling. He’s sensed it before with them- with Han in particular. That same chill around him that made him tense- Ben had felt it when he’d been practicing moving things with his mind. 

And that, of course, makes even more sense. Of course Han would be afraid of Ben. His surely enlightening run-in with Darth Vader would have made him wary of the unnatural people like Vader. Like Ben. It didn’t matter so much with Leia since she never trained- never tried to focus own her own powers, perhaps out of the same fear that she could be like Vader herself. 

Ben watches as the _Falcon_ takes off, its engines’ blue afterlight becoming smaller, fading away as it moves out of the planet’s atmosphere. Going back home. Without him.

 

 

He does cry when Luke shaves his hair- except for one spot that Luke patiently weaves into a braid. He can’t help it- but he doesn’t sob. Just clenches his teeth and stares at the ground. Doesn’t even quite realize he’s crying until he feels water dripping onto his arms. 

“It’s alright, Ben.” Luke cautiously rubs his back, Ben easily catching onto the quiet tendrils of Luke’s mind that whisper his hesitancy about this. There something Luke doesn’t like, some flaw of Ben’s that has already set him on guard. Luke can sense it, too. That Ben isn’t quite right. “You can learn to control your power here. You’ll meet people like you. Like us.” 

Ben sniffles, rubs his face on his sleeve, wants to object for any reason he can find-- but nods. 

He’s given a room in Luke’s new academy. He misses his mom, even as he hates her for leaving- hates himself more for thinking telling them would help. He doesn’t even have any of his stuff- no, attachment and materialism was against the Jedi way. Best to make new habits young, keep them through his new life.

He didn’t want this. But would it be the only way to be happy? He’d grown too much to pretend he was not connect to the Force as Leia did, but surely Jediism was not his only option. There had to be something else for him.

 

 

The first night there, Ben listens to the sounds of a foreign planet’s life and stares at the ceiling of his small, empty room. He can’t sleep, afraid and sick and lost- abandoned. If his parents abandoned him, why wouldn’t Luke do the same now? Luke couldn’t have attachments- he was a Jedi too. To him, Ben would be no different than any other padawan there. He had no more responsibility to teach him than any of them.

 _“The Jedi are wrong,”_ The voice tells him, makes him jump in his bed. _“Attachments can make you strong.”_

It feels wrong that the voice had followed him here- as though Luke’s academy could protect him from its influence. But… the voice had offered something more useful than anything it had said in the past- something actually relevant to his problems. This voice obviously had some other philosophy in mind and with Ben’s opposition to basic Jedi tenets, he couldn’t brush it aside so easily.

That didn’t mean he could trust it either.

For the first time, he seeks out that strange, lilting voice. It feels easy, reaching into the corner of his mind where the voice sits and whispers. He hopes the voice- whatever it is- can hear him, and he thinks: _Who are you?_

Ben can feel it; humming in consideration, lurking as it seems to think for a long time. Finally it tells him, _“Someone who appreciates your power. Someone who can help.”_

Ben frowns, all too aware of how evasive the answer was. _What do I call you?_

 _“Master.”_ The voice says, Ben grits his teeth- ready to object-- he was not the voice’s pupil yet, had no obligations to this thing that lurked in his mind-- and the voice answers again: _“Snoke.”_

 

 

Ben tries, he truly does. He knows it would be so much easier than what the voice- what _Snoke_ whispers to him to do. He tries to be a good Jedi, to control his anger, but it’s hard. It doesn’t come naturally to him like it seems to for everyone else. 

And the voice praises him for the passion; every time he refuses to give up and grits his teeth and by the stars just tries _harder_ , just so he can prove them wrong. It’s hard to find the line between the two sometimes. If he masters a Jedi technique because he refuses to give in, whose side is he really on?

Other students still fight, little childish spats and Ben watches them apologize sometimes. Genuine confessions of guilt for hurting each other- and Ben knows that feeling, when he snaps at someone who touches him unexpectedly or tries to offer well-meaning advice. But he can’t apologize, not like they can. It feels- wrong. He’s trying to navigate this mess of two people trying to lead him down two different paths that intersect more than he wants to think about; he can’t just admit he’s wrong.

( _“The Jedi code is to make people like us weak, subservient to everyone. Bowing to everyone else’s wills.”_ Snoke tells him, _“We are the rightful rulers of this world, that is why we are blessed with power.”_ )

Sometimes Luke makes purposeful comments to another student- praises them for their serenity in their meditations. Luke gives him distanced, withering glances on occasion, but never speaks directly to him on the subject. 

He has more dreams- stranger, darker things. Many of shapeless, voiceless things- indescribable otherworldly horrors that left Ben shaking and covered in sweat. The space between the stars, the endless void called for him in those dreams. The darkness in the Force itself ached for him to find power and destruction and _violence-_

He finds some comfort that they are not as visceral as others, even if he finds himself darker, bleaker in the sunlight with each passing night.

And sometimes his were of himself- the too-real things that make him wonder which one is actually real. The ones where he wakes up with his hands curled into fists so tightly he can still feel the crackling heat of his blade and the sharp edges of the hilt biting through his gloves. Snoke praised these dreams, told him his future was so bright. There was so much waiting for him; power and prestige like he’d never known before, and the knowledge that he would be following a truly righteous path.

And sometimes he dreams of- of that other person. The one he’d seen before. _You._ He didn’t know you yet, he could tell. You weren’t familiar at all, and yet- somehow that was relieving. That somewhere out there he’d meet someone that was so intrinsically linked to his future, that no matter what he chose here, you would be waiting for him. 

His voice- _Snoke-_ does not comment on those dreams. Only makes cryptic remarks about how attachments and passion brought power- but he could only ever be as strong as those things he desired. 

And Ben thinks: how would this person not be powerful? They were in a battle together, after all. Surely they must be strong if they would do such a thing. Perhaps even stronger just to survive next to him.

 

 

Just before his sixteenth birthday he turns. Too tired and worn down to keep fighting. Useless as a Jedi. He could master any skill that was presented to him- but he couldn’t do it _right_. He felt the call of the Light side- it was clear and obvious for him, easy to find, but he also heard the Dark. Both sides reached out to him and it was hard to deny either one. Was that so wrong?

But hat wasn’t like the students. Some did not even hear its mysterious ringing at all. Others could just turn away from that pleading ache and ignore it- think of their _peace_ and tranquility. 

But he heard the Dark- feels it pulling at his fingertips and guiding his actions. It is too deeply a part of him to ignore. He is a lost cause for the Jedi. Useless. Too rash, short-tempered, prideful. 

And Snoke whispers how foolish Luke was- for not recognizing his gift. To be drawn to both the Dark and the Light? So few people even with _their_ gifts in the Force could claim such a thing. If he could only learn to balance them, to use both as he pleased... Unimaginable power was his birthright- and Luke wanted to stop him. To keep him quiet and out of the way, to smother him in Jedi rules that he couldn’t even obey.

He would be better without Luke. Snoke whispered to him what he had to do. The Jedi would suffocate anyone with the Force, to control them like puppets, and so Kylo Ren turned on them.

 

 

It is easy, after that. He certainly can’t go back and undo that decision, can’t stitch together the lifeless bodies of the people who wished so dearly to be friends. Luke couldn’t face him at the temple- coward that he was. So Kylo left, sought his new master.

But it didn’t start that way. No, it was- slow at first. He had to be reconditioned, washed of the useless Jedi thoughts that distracted him.

Snoke trains him alone for several years- keeps him isolated from the world and free of outside impurities. Free from other distractions and influences, and begins to mold him and teach him a new philosophy. In this time- as part of his training and study of the Force- Kylo pours over any text of the old worlds he was offered- of the world before the Jedi, some even before the Sith Empire. Ancient beliefs of the Force, so many truths that the Jedi stifled for fear of the improper use of such power.

Snoke teaches Kylo new abilities and strengths he didn’t know he had, knowledge no Jedi would ever share. Knowledge that terrifies and inspires him to reach further, to find new power within himself. Snoke teaches him about pain, on delivering it to others and using it for himself, to use it to fuel his rage and burn hotter, to use it and destroy everything in his path. 

In a leather-bound tome Kylo finds tattered illustrations on flimsi of an ancient saber. Rough, simplistically designed without much flare for polished aesthetics. The original saber was still bound by cables to a powerpack, its purpose: a way to use a cracked crystal in a saber. Something new and unthinkable.

Before, it had been thought by those who wielded lightsabers that a cracked crystal was useless, broken. If it didn’t destroy your saber (and most of your arm) when the crack occurred, then it would shortly. Best to destroy it and start anew. 

And then- quillons. They had to be meticulously designed, measured and calculated to find the right lengths, the right balance to vent the excess energy from the crystal. To keep it stable- balanced. It is… inspiring for Kylo. A piece of knowledge that had fallen so perfectly into his being, resonated so clearly that he can’t think of turning away from it. 

Something thought useless, turned and revealed its inner power. Yes, it was perfect. It takes another week to redesign the original concept to allow for powerpacks within the hilt without destroying the blade. He begins constructing it immediately.

 

 

It is only when there are rumors of a New Republic spy who used the Force did Snoke allow Kylo to have his first mission. They could both feel other people with their senses in the galaxy- but it was near impossible to find any specific one from a distance. A rumor was an excellent place to start.

It has been four years since he had joined Snoke in his citadel. And even so, Snoke lurks along the edges of Kylo’s mind. Snoke says it is to make sure his student is safe, but Kylo can tell: he’s watching for the first sign of betrayal. 

But how could he? How could Kylo think to betray Snoke now-- Kylo has killed for him, Snoke was the only person who seemed to care of Kylo’s power and future. Snoke had let him be reborn, to kill the weak part of himself and become _more._

Kylo took it upon himself to prove he was loyal, to show his gratitude for Snoke’s guidance- he would find this spy.

Kylo tracks the suspected scout to Skomia 6A, a half-frozen wasteland that was only of interest as an Outer Rim’s mining company’s latest outpost. His heavy layers keep the cold out, but the dark color does nothing to hide him against the nearly white background of snow and ice. 

She hides from him in the mines, and though she is stealthy and quick, Kylo can sense her. No matter how quiet her breathing or how well she pressed into the shadows, he knows where she is. 

And yet when he corners the spy, he somehow feels startled at the sight. She is barely a girl, younger than him. Her cheeks pink with the cold and the wind and despite the softness of her figure, her eyes are sharp and hard. Ruthless- he wonders if she sees the same in his eyes.

He’d killed others- other _children_ at the Jedi temple, and this girl is clearly older than most of them. Perhaps sixteen, old enough to make her own choices. Old enough to risk her life for the Republic’s information. 

He could have easily slayed her, ran her through with his blade and leave- return to the familiarity and comfort of his training under Snoke. But he has bigger plans than that now, an organization to build.

Those who chose to turn against the Jedi lies were welcomed into his new order- the Knights of Ren. A new, uncorrupted league of Force-Sensitives. And though Master Snoke guided him, Kylo would be the leader. The Master of the Knights. 

And so, Kylo gives her an option: Join the Knights or die by his sword.

And she does something he could never expect: she laughs. Her amusement is clear through the Force, genuine off her emotional response. Her pink-painted lips split wide, snaggled teeth glinting under the dim, fake lighting. “The Jedi fall and you think you can just take their place? Command everyone to follow because you are the only option left?” 

Kylo wants to grind his teeth. Wants to yell that he destroyed the Jedi to make something better without their suppressing force- but he can feel her. She would never join him, too indoctrinated into New Republic politics.

Without a saber she is helpless- even as she tries to draw her vibroblade. Kylo kills her, leaves her body in the cold mine and returns to his ship.

 

 

Word slowly travels that those with the Force- those who had not been previously sent to train their powers were being hunted. Pursued by a strange new group that left a trail of bodies of those who would not agree to their terms. 

The next one Kylo seeks out is a simple Togruta merchant’s daughter with dark skin and an unusual problem. 

He approaches her, feels the Force within her nearly dormant and almost slippery against his touch. She watches him with wide, distrusting eyes as he stands before her, she says nothing as he tells her of the Knights, of his goals of a world build for Force-Sensitives.

Her brow furrows- and her hands move quickly, some obvious intelligent meaning behind it that is lost to Kylo aside from her agitation (his breath catches as he gets something smaller than a vision. The person on the battlefield knows something of languages-- would be able to translate this). So he touches her mind again, finds quickly that she signed something more polite but is thinking more to the effect of _Why should I even trust you? Why do you care what someone who can’t talk can do?_

Kylo tilts his head and considers her. There’s nothing he can say that will make her trust him, he knows this but- “I can teach you to speak.” She bristles, raises her hands to sign again- “With the Force.” 

Her hands lower as she considers it and Kylo can feel her rolling the thought around behind her skull. She frowns, her hands stiff as she signs. _You teach me other things too? How to control this?_

Kylo nods. And she sighs, agrees. 

 

 

He has her shed her old life in a way he destroyed his, and renames her when she is born as someone new, formally knights her as _Xeni._ Kylo watches her signature shift, becoming pale and yet- spotted with darkness, all washed in the same purple as her head-tails. In time, she finds an Imperial Guards' force pike- and designs her own.

 

 

She travels with him to the next one they sense, more than three months later. Kylo likes her- under that facade she uses to keep him at arms length, she’s quick-witted and fierce. And quick to learn as well- absorbing anything about telepathy and communication he can present to her. 

But the next one they sense is an assassin- a white-haired human who accepts no true name. His mind is well guarded from Kylo’s prying (not as powerful or subtle as Kylo would become in the future). He’s already learned to shield his mind and Kylo would be pleased to have him as he already knows some of his own powers. 

And of course, he’s quick and efficient- more than willing to be bloodied for the work of their empire. He’s no stranger to bloodshed and he wields his vibroblades with practiced ease; it would be nice to have someone to spar with on Kylo’s level. 

The assassin accepts the Knight’s offer, but poses a particular problem. He has no past life left to destroy and rejects accepting a new name. Xeni snorts, speaks into the man’s mind, _then what the fuck are we supposed to call you?_

The man stares at her blankly for a moment. His shielding weakens and Kylo can feel something off his response- an old pain and something fogged, a woman’s body in a pool of blood. “Snow.”

 

 

Two more join within three years; a dark quarren man with a bloodlust Kylo can taste and a blue-skinned Twi’lek with an affinity for slicewires. 

 

 

Kylo Ren has no family- holds no attachments of that sort of familiarity. But his Knights are close and yet- far. In the beginning, when there were only three they travelled together. As their numbers grew up to five, the others began traveling in pairs- Snoke no longer watching Kylo but rather his Knights, judging their allegiances. 

And, as more joined his cause, the more Kylo became aware of a glaring issue. 

It was not how they completed their missions, nor their weaponry or armor or preference within the Force or even Xeni’s unexpected blooming romance with another Knight or that Enki was particularly violent with even less provocation than Kylo-- but a growing crack of familiarity. 

Kylo Ren cares for his Knights, in a way. As their leader- but he has fostered an unfit group. One that he had bonded with too easily, not remained distant as he needed to be. As Snoke had been to him.

Two problems lay before him, two Knights that push beyond their boundaries and refuse to step away. An uneasy tension beginning to push the group into factions, unspoken but too obviously felt through the Force. 

“This must be fixed immediately. Leave no question as to your authority.” Snoke advises him, his scarred face just barely frowning-- his displeasure more obvious through his emotional response; carefully guarded but present nonetheless during their meetings. “Enki is more valuable, more likely to defer to your power.” 

Kylo drops his head, stares through his dark visor at this own feet. He hadn’t intended this. He hears his own voice, distorted through the vocoder, “Yes, Master.”

 

 

Kylo stands before the trembling man, focuses on his hatred. He has to do this for the Knights. He has to fix this problem, he cannot submit to affection. 

The assassin’s blades are drawn and humming, his stance low- ready to strike back. The other Knights do not move, only watch in horror and shock. 

_Too individualistic,_ Kylo reminds himself as he saw the red streak of his blade reflected in Snow’s mismatched eyes. His hand tightens around the hilt, thinks: _A weak link to my order._

Snow strikes fast and hard- a vibroblade catching the outside of Kylo’s forearm as he blocks the blade, but it is the only hit Snow lands. With his short blades he has to move close to Kylo to hit him- and Kylo’s sword is long- slides through Snow’s ribcage with little resistance.

Snow gasps and drops his blades. Xeni winces as they _clink_ on the floor and shut off. Snow staggers back, off the end of Kylo’s saber- falls and writhes on the ground for a long moment, blood burbling up from his lips as he tries to speak.

Kylo can hear his thoughts- can feel Snow’s burning pain and the growing coldness in his fingertips. Could the others feel it? Could they hear him cursing Kylo’s name?

Kylo watches, _forces_ himself to- his knuckles popping against the hard hilt of his saber as he grips it. This wasn’t his fault- if Snow hadn’t been so fucking reckless--- He watches his knight futilely press against the wound to his chest, the hate simmering behind his eyes, heavy feeling of tiredness.

And then- Kylo feels it- nothing. Snow’s chest stilling with one finale exhale, the blood still staining his pale skin. His eyes are half-lidded, staring eternally at the ceiling. 

“No one else is to question me.” Kylo speaks evenly, low and controlled, his fist shaking as he releases the trigger. He exhales, listens to the static his vocoder hisses, “If you challenge me, you will die.” 

 

 

Snoke was right, of course; Enki holds a new reverence for Kylo’s power and does not challenge him again. It didn’t stop Kylo from noticing the chilled fear in the other Knights’ minds. 

 

 

Kylo feels sick. He digs his fingers into the shallow cut to his forearm, revels in the singing pain it brings. Shaken and unright to his very core. He’d killed before- he’d killed children and people you might call innocent. But he cared for Snow- even liked him, despite that he was not a good Knight. 

“My apprentice, you must remember,” Snoke chides him- only half pitying, “Attachments may make you strong, but they may also make you _weak._ Be cautious with whom you lay trust; it should not come easily.” Snoke pauses, resettled in his throne, steeples his knobbled fingers. “Find power in your attachments, but do not let it interfere with your training.” 

Kylo holds his tongue, but fights not to argue. How could that be? How could something be both? If he might be faced with killing another Knight-- the closest beings in the universe to his peers- how could he be expected to form a relationship with anyone _outside_ of his order? 

The conclusion was obvious, therefore: he couldn’t. Shouldn’t, if he valued his power or had any faith in his Master’s plans. Even those few relationships he must hold with his fellow Knights should be strained- held at arm’s length for fear of more infighting. 

Kylo grinds his teeth and digs his nails further into his flesh.

Perhaps, when the Jedi had been eliminated completely and the war had been won- perhaps then. At least then there would be stability and the others would be less likely to rise against him. But now- until the end of this ongoing war- he could not truly lay trust in anyone except Master Snoke.

 

 

In the following years- a few more try to overtake him, most push their luck too far. They were dealt with, with no less mercy than he had for Snow. Kylo demands more of the new apprentices, letting each Knight train their initiates themselves. And in turn held them to a strict code: if their apprentice was too weak, they were to be killed. If they were too old- too ingrained into their previous behaviors- they were to be killed. 

It was unacceptable now. He was their leader- and he only needed the strongest. With the Force, numbers were not important. A single Knight could fight battalions’ if they were trained properly. A Rodian Knight challenged him, said that he was too harsh and in turn lost his neck. 

Those who had been around the longest never bothered to fight him on this. But he felt it. In the backs of their minds- the wariness. The constant vigilance on if he was _weak_ again. As if they thought they could strike him down, take his place as their leader, as Snoke’s favorite. 

 

 

It is rare when his travels lead him to highly urbanized, populated places. In truth, he doesn’t like it. It’s too loud, too easy to be overwhelmed by the crowds and throngs and people, the thick foreign accented Basic that rings in his ears and head.

But he has been sent to deal with a high-ranking deserter from the Order, a brigadier general who had some twisted, cowardly change of heart. They had fled to Coruscant, had hoped to be lost to the ever-growing population and thriving underground.

The Imperial capital, it had lost much political power after the fall- and though many who followed the formally founded First Order hailed from Coruscant, the planet and their staggered local governments were unwilling to directly support the war. Corruption had steeped too deeply into their infrastructure, and without the top-heavy build of the Empires’ society, the planet’s government had fallen into democratic chaos. 

Considering the post-Imperial sympathetic population, Snoke had advised the planet would come to ally with their forces soon enough- it would be better to allow them their hesitancy than risk taking them by force. 

(He was correct of course, Kylo noted three years later, when Coruscant officially joined their efforts). 

The mission felt below him- a person who wasn’t even able to feel the innate pulse of the galaxy wasn’t worth his time. Except, the Supreme Leader believed it was and Kylo dares not speak against this. Finding this traitor is important- it had been kept relatively quiet within the Order itself- that yes, while General Karimlu was missing- _AWOL-_ there was not enough evidence to support the rumor that they had deserted.

And to keep things that way, Kylo was sent to find them- destroy them before they could speak otherwise.

Allowing such a highly revered officer to escape and then to allow such an event to circulate in the Order would be catastrophic, if not fatal. If a lowly, weakling private or seaman deserted it was one thing- something that could be written off as cowardice. But allowing someone of influence to escape? That could inspire others. They needed this to be dealt with swiftly. Deploying troops to capture them would only allow information to spread, and thus- a Knight was sent. 

Kylo simply happened to be the closest. 

Karimlu is easy to find (though they used an alias and had changed their appearance-- long, pink hair replacing a previously well-groomed officers’ cut) and even easier to kill; they hardly resist at all in truth. Just trembling and staring wide-eyed at his red blade. 

The mission itself is hardly memorable. It is only on Kylo’s trip back to his shuttle that anything felt wrong. 

But no- not wrong. It is a calling, perhaps- something compelling him to turn down a street away from his craft and towards a merchant’s district. A very particular merchant’s district, strung with red holiday lights and obscene signs. Kylo finds with some relief that are others there that hid their faces under hoods or masks- not for intimidation like his, but for an anxious need for anonymity. He doesn’t stand out from the crowd too much.

A blue-skinned Twi’lek woman steps in front of him- suddenly pressing up against his dark armor, one thin hand dancing up towards the hem of his cowl. She opens her mouth to speak but Kylo hears her thoughts before they touch her tongue- _Wanna come play with us? Invite him back and take his cards, get his credits before he wakes-_

Disgust curls at Kylo’s lips, a harsh scowl forming behind his mask. He sends her off with the slightly exertion of the Force- a simple command. _“Leave.”_

No one else seems to notice the event so obviously casual in this dark street. 

But something still calls to him- not some unwelcome proposal, something important- and he follows. But what in the stars could be calling him _here?_ It seems to incredible- something within the Force wanting him to travel through one of the many sex districts of Corsucant. Surely, whatever needed his attention was on the other side- this was simply the easiest way there. 

But Kylo’s mouth goes dry as he neared it- a nearly innocent looking little shop with a blinking sign in the window. Whatever it was- it was in this building.

Against any better instinct his cock twitches as he steps inside- his mask not filtering the scent of processed lubricants and perfumes and aphrodisiacs. A bored-looking gray Rodian stands at the counter, flipping through one of the magazines from a stand; a chubby pink Twi’lek poses on the front cover turned towards Kylo, winking. 

Kylo swallows, looks around the shop to find whatever it was that needed him so badly. His heart sinks as he moves through the aisles, follows the ever stronger magnetism towards one corner. The walls there are lined with brightly colored boxes on shelves- and above each is a display. The model for each box's’ contents. 

This couldn’t be right- his cheeks flush, warm at the strange thought. Perhaps he was wrong- he must be mistaken. Two dozen sex toys stare back at him- mostly brightly colored, varying shades of pinks and purples, a few blues and blacks and reds. Some completely transparent- others with marbled patterns along their strange ridges.

And, they are strange. They are mostly designed for humans or similar species, but a few seem so bizarre they must belong elsewhere, in another species’ world. 

His cock twitches again, filling against his will, warm on his thigh. A heaviness settles in his belly as he looks through the copious toys, tries not to think too hard about them.Because one- one in particular calls to him. 

He isn’t sure what to make of that. 

A purple thing, long and thick with spinning beads along the middle, an- _attachment_ above it with two thin extensions off another vibrator. It had two controls, outlined in thin silver paint. It glows for him-- nearly visible to his eye, makes him want to take it and covet it, hide it from prying eyes. Not just as a strange, illicit good that Kylo had never expected to see nor desire-- but as something within the Force, something tied to him. This is important.

Kylo steps closer and the vibrator tries to whisper little secrets through the Force, humming pleasantly into his mind. Kylo shudders a sigh, pulls the top, no- second box from the top and stares blankly at its pristine, untouched contents. That was the one- somehow, it was important. 

But this just _can’t_ be right. The Force was spiritual and connected to living things, was tied to so many important events in the galaxy- how could it lead him to a _vibrator?_

And yet he can’t help but touch the thin plastic packaging and imagine- imagine who exactly he would be using this on. It wasn’t himself- no, this was not something he’d been interested in, and if it was he would’ve chosen one designed for his own body. Someone- _someone_ would share his bed, eventually. 

He turns towards the Rodian, gathered enough of himself to Force-persuade him to forget Kylo had been here at all- that shouldn’t be so difficult-- but his power was siphoned away, pulled to the hand holding the box and Kylo looks towards it and--

_Skin so warm he could feel it through his gloves- delicate, helpless moaning above him- the vibrator humming softly as his partner lifted their hips, pushed against it, watched the purple length disappear inside--_

Kylo gasps, nearly falling with the intensity of the shock. His face is burning hot, cock aching ruthlessly now. The Rodian looked up to him for a moment- Kylo can’t even decipher what he does-- and the Rodian falls over, unconscious. Kylo flees the shop, hiding the toy in his robes. 

 

 

In his ship he pulls his glove off with his teeth, takes his cock- red and leaking now, long teased by the shifting of his clothing on his hurried trip back to his ship- in one shaking hand. He’s too sensitive already, even just squeezing blood into the tip makes him feel like he’s going to cum. 

He closes his eyes, thinks of his vision. The world where in some strange reality, someone _wants_ to be with him, of letting him- _touch_ them. He shudders, tightens his fist and strokes firmly. Someone will want him, will let him control their body- use _this vibrator_ on it.

Kylo groans, bites the back of the glove of his other hand to stifle the sound- thinks only of _your_ moans. The ones he heard so clearly in his vision, your voice so desperate, begging for him. Your body was blurred to him- he had barely seen anything about your except the pink, inner folds of your cunt and the sinfully slick slide of the vibrator as you pulled away from it and impaled yourself again.

Someone, somewhere would lay in his bed, would be intimate with him. Perhaps by fear or pity or- some other control, but that was his future. He’s _seen_ it. He can't stop himself from crying out- a guttural groan through grit teeth- when he cums, white seed splashing against his black robes. He strokes himself until he’s shivering, his hips jerking softly away from his hand. 

He knows you. He’s always known you; he’s dreamed of you when he was a child but _this--_ this is new. He hasn’t had a vision of you since before he joined Snoke. 

He wishes he knew your name. 

 

 

It had been such a normal day- boring, uneventful. One more cycle where there was no news on the map, no Resistance pockets to destroy. Kylo is returning from a meeting, unnecessary that he be there- a waste of his time and patience. 

He pays so little attention to the crowds, a sea of black and white uniforms with no individuality, that parted before him. They were wise to, after all. All the better they respect him. Fear him. He doesn’t have the patience to deal with those who would dare think him an equal. 

And- he sees you. He hadn’t even spared you a thought at first, just another person on this ship, innumerable and worthless. And then, of course, he notices it. Awkward, unexpected, but undeniable: your silence, the strange hole where your mind should be. Replaced instead by a faded, nearly invisible glow around you, gray and unattuned and _small._

He watched how your eyes grew wide and terrified as he approached, but no, this was _wrong_ \-- he couldn’t feel it on you- couldn’t taste your horror in the air, couldn’t hear your racing thoughts as his own.

And when he pushes against your mind- sought out your training, had it been Skywalker who sent you? Were you some spy?-- his heart jerks in his chest. Everything is blurred and strange for how he sees it, like a primitive, untrained attempt at shielding. One that refracted your thoughts rather than hid them when he pressed hard enough. 

He can barely pry one memory from another but- no, you have had no formal training. You are not some Jedi spy, no- you are a genuine member of the First Order. A translator.

But you are familiar- your signature, your mind. He swallows thickly, his breath shuddered, too quiet to be echoed by the mask’s vocoder. 

Yes. He does know you. You, who haunted his dreams so long ago and _you_ who had once promised him that somehow something good was still left for him.

So scared of him you tremble; he doesn’t need to read your emotional response to see how you shake and how you bite your lip- your eyes growing glassy in terror. 

That was alright. He has earned such a reputation, has revelled in others’ fear of him. He can’t hold it against you- but it makes his heart ache. Because it was _you_ that he would somehow come to- 

to-

“Follow me.” He says, forces the strange feeling down in his chest, thankful his vocoder suppressed whatever awful thing had left his mouth. He breathes out slowly and walks with new purpose-

You had finally appeared for him- and you were _untouched_ by others. Raw and ready, entirely his student to mold. You were his- perfectly, finally _his._

 

 

That night he dreams of a battle field. Closer now, so real he can taste the smoke even as he knows he’s in a vision. The swings of his saber no longer scare him- no longer feel foreign and graceful. No, he’s strong now with forceful swings and gritted teeth. 

And he turns- 

And he sees you, an angel of the old worlds- death as much your domain as it is his. You stand serenely among the carnage, smile with blood-coated lips when he touches your face. You’re so beautiful- he wants to kiss you, to taste the iron on your tongue. To hold you tightly and never let you leave his side--

And in his sleep, Kylo sighs.

**Author's Note:**

> If all goes according to plan, the first chapter of the true sequel to FLW will be posted September 21st <3
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://satans-codpiece.tumblr.com)


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